Islands
by VivaHetalia
Summary: Different nations reflect on what it means to be an island.


The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland - or, if you wanted to be pedantic, just England - was quite proud to be an island. Generally, his brothers agreed with him on this point. It was just so... such a good thing to be. England had always loved the sea, right back to the times when he was a little kid and he had gazed out in awed fear at the endless expanse of waves that was the North Sea, a tremble in his heart as he scanned the horizon for viking ships. He had been many times to the Straits of Dover and peered against the wintry midday sun to squint at the black smudge that was France, and wonder whether he could cross it in a little dinghy made from wood and rope. One time, he tried, but the stormy drift blew him back onto his home shores.

When Harald Hardrada came to conquer his people, or when William of Normandy succeeded in doing the same, England never lost his fascination for the sea. He simply shunned France and glared at him, vowing that never again would he ever be conquered. Never again would he be enslaved to another.

He was an island; he was protected by the sea. And so he sought to conquer the sea, to turn his protection into his ultimate weapon.

The British Empire, when he ruled over it, was kept in check by the fleets of armed merchant ships. Nobody really knew why there was such a strong focus on controlling the seas, but it had been England's idea. 'Rule Brittania', he thought, 'Brittania rule the waves. And Britons never, ever, ever shall be slaves.'

* * *

Scotland had a similar view of the sea. His land was wilder and windier, with high crags and deep lochs, both salty and fresh. Legends of monsters lurking deep inside the lakes stemmed from Scotland's own attraction to water and what lay beneath the surface. He would often sit on a patch of heather on the hills, staring out at the ocean that stretched glittering before him, humming a lullaby that their mother, Brittania, had taught him when he was very little. He no longer remembered the words; he wasn't sure there had ever been any.

When he fought with his people and fought with England, he never forgot that lullaby. One time, while sailing alone to the Isle of Skye, Scotland finally put words to his humming.

"Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird, on the wing... onward the sailors cry..." The gently rocking sailboat he was in swayed and lulled to the gentle waltz of the song. Ahead of them, the isle loomed ahead in the distance. "Carry the lad, that's born to be king... o'er the sea, to Skye..."

* * *

Iceland had lived in isolation from the rest of the Nordic countries for years, and always liked to believe he had done so for ever. Even though he knew how similar he and Norway looked, he held on to the notion that they weren't brothers.

The reason? He wanted to be his own person, not just another miniature Norway like Svalbard was in the far north. His island was self-sufficient in mostly everything, from food to water to energy. When the rest of the Nations got together to discuss caps on fossil fuels and renewable energy, Iceland didn't have to go. Eighty percent of his fuel was taken from geothermal sources, a figure far, far above even the highest of targets that anyone else would set themselves.

Nevertheless, there were times when he and Mr. Puffin would wish that maybe they could be a little bit closer to the mainland. Sometimes, it got a little bit lonely out here. Reykjavík was clean, forward-thinking and safe, and he loved it. It was just...

Back in the turn of the decade, Iceland had been sick. So sick, from his economy collapsing and that blasted volcano making him hack up soot and ash. He didn't sleep at all well, his nights spent tossing and turning in fever dreams.

One night, he had woken up to the midnight sun outside his window and Norway holding him in a tight embrace. At first, he thought he was delirious, but as the panic of sleep faded he realised the other Nordic had flown out to see him after hearing from his boss how ill he was. That moment touched his heart. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep again, trying not to alert Norway that Iceland was awake when he woke up.

He had drifted into a now comforting sleep before he realised it, and when he next awoke it was still sunny, but in the day this time. Norway was nowhere to be seen. Personally, Iceland preferred it that way.

He would never admit it to anyone else, not even Mr. Puffin, not even under pain of torture and death: but having an older brother was kind of nice.

* * *

Svalbard was only a little archipelago; the sea was the one thing he could always rely on to be there for him. Lots of people left him when the winter came, and none of Europe seemed to even know he was there.

He looked a lot like Norway, but smaller and harder to notice. He would often stand behind his brother at world meetings, for any decisions they made affected him as well. Nobody ever looked his way. Not even Canada, who was ignored a lot but never as much as him.

Svalbard loved science. At Longyearbyen he would often sit in on the classes that the University of Svalbard taught - it was just arctic biology, something he knew far more on than any human could - but he liked hearing human voices. He had volunteered to host the Global Seed Vault, in case any of the southern countries suffered mass extinction because of their poisoning the planet. Sometimes, he would have nightmares about black smog choking him and the pristine white snow stained an ugly grey by petrol fumes.

He often wished that he wasn't so isolated from everyone, even though it was so very peaceful up here in the North. He liked being an island, that was true, but if it was a choice between that and being noticed by the other nations, he would trade it in in a heartbeat.

* * *

There were exactly twenty-nine human beings under the age of eighteen years old living in Antarctica, and exactly one nation-child that lived there too. Antarctica didn't really have much contact with other people his age, and he kind of preferred it that way.

He lived out most of his (days? the Midnight Sun and Polar Night meant the word had little meaning) at the American McMurdo station on Ross Island. He slept very little in summer, and almost hibernated during the winter. The scientists at the station didn't really know what to do with him. They dressed him in a jumpsuit far too large for him, bright orange - the international rescue colour, able to be seen amongst the white glare of snow - and with a hood that drooped down over his face whenever he had it on. He didn't mind.

Antarctica didn't have a boss - under the Antarctic Treaty System, he was a nation not able to be owned by another. Because of this, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, up to a point. He didn't attend world meetings; what good would that do to him? He wandered wherever he pleased on the whole continent that was owned by him and him alone.

Everyone who knew about the Nations knew better than to search for Antarctica when he suddenly disappeared. It was known that a nation could not be physically harmed while on their own land, so why bother? Antarctica often snuck away into the wilderness of white wasteland. He enjoyed being alone while the wind whistled past him and the fog made a complete whiteout and he was totally, utterly alone. He could raise his hand and part the katabatic gales around his tiny form, making a sphere of calm in the middle of the storm. General Winter would be proud.

Antarctica's only real friend was a little penguin chick he named Pingu and often went to see. Pingu didn't speak or do anything, really, but just followed Antarctica around like a loyal minion, waddling behind him on the ice. Sometimes, they went sledging together. Antarctica wondered if the sensation it made him feel was what other people called 'fun'.

Russia had once come to see Antarctica while he was staying at the Vostok station in the middle of a particularly violent storm. The little nation had confessed that he was jealous of Russia, and indeed of all the more northern Nations, because they were less alone. Russia had laughed and said he knew what Antarctica meant, but that his land of Siberia was far worse. Antarctica had walked out the door and not spoken to him again.

(He later learned that Russia was also a wasteland of cold, barren, sparsely populated ground. Taiga forest, however, just didn't seem as bad to Antarctica as snow-covered desert. He made up his mind to return the visit sometime. Maybe.)

Sometimes, he would sit in the middle of a barren expanse of ice with nothing for miles around and just watch his breath frost in the sunny air. He would sing to himself, the sound echoing out for miles, carried by the frigid atmosphere that reflected it back down. If he listened carefully, he could hear the echoes joining in with him.

He never bothered making up words. Human language never defined him.

* * *

Alexander. What sort of a name was that, anyway? A human name. Not a name for a Nation. Nevertheless, Alexander Island had been named that name, even though he badly wished that he had never been named at all. From the instant the humans had imbued his island with the power of a name, he had been born.

Then, they had left. Just like that; gone. He never even met them.

Alexander Island was uninhabited, untouched by humans. He knew what they were, of course - all Nations were created from the thoughts and ideals of the collective consciousness of humanity - but he had never actually seen one. He'd never lived in a human house or spoken a human word. Apart from his name.

"Alexander. Alexander. Alexander." Like a record on loop. It was the only thing he knew how to say. The rest was just a pulsing light of sensations and pictures in the back of his head.

He stood, watching the icy waters lap at the shores of his island, wondering how long it would be before they froze again for the winter. He was naked, but why would he care?

The cold did not bother him, and there was nobody there to see.

He turned and walked back inland, his light steps making no impression in the ice-blanketed snow. The tear tracks had frozen onto his face, and he didn't bother wiping them off.

* * *

Notes:

Harald Hardrada was a Viking king who attempted to conquer England. He failed. William of Normandy was a French duke who also tried to conquer England soon after. He succeeded - this all happened in the year 1066. England has not been conquered again since then.

"Rule, Brittania" is a British patriotic song set to music in 1740, during the time of the British Empire. It is used by both the Royal Navy and the British Army, and most Britons at least know the words to the chorus.

The Skye Boat Song is a Scottish folk song about the escape of 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' from Uist to the Isle of Skye after his defeat at the Battle of Culloden (the last pitched battle on Britain's soil) in 1746.

Reykjavík is the capital of Iceland. It suffered a financial crisis in the period of 2008-2011, and in 2010 the volcano Eyjafjallajökull erupted with an ash cloud that grounded air travel in Europe for several days.

The Midnight Sun and Polar Night are phenomena that occur within the Arctic and Antarctic circles, where the sun does not rise during a portion of the winter nor set during a portion of the summer. How extreme the phenomenon is depends on how close you are to the poles.

Svalbard is an arctic island archipelago administered under the Kingdom of Norway. It is part of the Schengen free travel area of the EU. Its capital is Longyearbyen, with a population of about 2000 people and a university. It also hosts the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, a project to keep a store of every plant species in the world in case of a mass extinction event.

The Antarctic Treaty System is an agreement by the nations of the world that they will not use Antarctica for reasons other than scientific research and tourism. All military activity on the continent is banned, and countries are not allowed to claim Antarctica for themselves.

The McMurdo Station is an American research station in Antarctica, with a population swelling from 200 in winter to 1000 in summer - this makes it the de facto population centre of the continent. Vostok Station is a Russian research station with population from 12 to about 50, located close to the Southern Pole of Inaccessibility and the coldest place on earth.

Katabatic winds are winds that occur in Antarctica due to cold air sliding down off the ice shelf. Also, because the air temperature is colder near the ice than higher up (a situation only found in polar climates), sounds refract back down from the sky and so if is possible to hear noises from a long way off.

Taiga is a type of cold forest biome, which makes up a large portion of Russia's landmass. Siberia is a geographical region covering almost all of north Asia, and is the most sparsely populated part of Russia.

Alexander Island is an uninhabited sub-antarctic island administered under the Antarctic Treaty. It is the second-largest uninhabited island in the world, the largest being Devon Island of the Canadian Arctic Archipelago.


End file.
